


Epilogue

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Khazâd November
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Dís is reluctant to leave the Blue Mountains, despite Dáin and Dwalin asking her. After all, what is there for her there?





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 16 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompt was "battle". At least that was what got me started on this story, it took its own direction....

It took Dís years, decades even, to finally set out. The Blue Mountains held happy memories, or at least memories that had once been happy before they turned to dust in her hands. There was the stone on which Fíli had liked to sit when sharpening his countless knives. In that meadow, Kíli had spent hours practicing with his bow until he was close to perfect. She had once pretended not to hear her boys from behind that corner, laughing and whispering that they were about to ambush their poor Amad with snowballs. She could still point out the tree from which Kíli had fallen and broken his arm and the bush in which Fíli had landed when he tried to train one of the goats into being a battle goat. And she had spent countless evenings on that stone bench with Thorin, watching her sons play as she and her brother discussed politics. 

For a while, she had tried to pretend they had just gone on a hunting trip and might walk around the corner at any moment. She hadn’t known how else to bear it. She couldn’t have done that elsewhere, certainly not _there_. 

They had tried to convince her. Dáin had sent her letter after letter, asking her to come. Every time Dwalin visited her, he asked if she would return with him. She always declined. 

 

She stopped pretending they were only temporarily gone eventually. Still, Dís couldn’t leave the place where she had experienced so many happy moments, where she had seen her sons grow up. And she certainly couldn’t face seeing where they had died, let alone live there. 

Dáin’s letters mentioned the topic less over time, though he did still ask every once in a while. Dwalin never stopped asking. Towards the end of his visits when they were sitting on the old stone bench she had used to sit on with Thorin, he would always turn to her. 

“Will you join me on the journey back? I could use the company and you would like what the mountain has been turned into.”

Dís shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My place is here.”

 

She governed the settlement, shrunken as it was. She watched the years pass by and remembered. And she thought of her boys, her brother, lying deep under the old mountain. Of the stone crown Dwalin said sat on Thorin’s grave and the matching golden circlets that sat on those of her sons. 

“Will you join me on the journey back?” Dwalin asked as they looked out into the pale evening light, the meadow white and silent with frost and the moon hanging low in the late winter sky. “The great forges have been repaired and it is a sight to behold when they are being used. Needless to say, some company on the way back would also be nice.”

“I think I’ll join you.”

Dwalin stared at her. “Are you sure?”

Dís nodded. She hadn’t been, not until the moment he asked her, but she wanted to go. It had been a long time coming.

“I want to see the mountain, but I don’t know if I will stay.” She didn’t expect she would. 

 

She looked at the birches and beeches with their bare, cold branches as she left, not the corners with their memories or the mountain range she had never called home but which had become a home nevertheless. All her belongings fit on one pony. Dwalin said nothing as they rode and she was thankful for it. 

 

They stopped in the Shire as they passed through it. She was doubtful the hobbit of Dwalin’s tales would want to see her, but Dwalin insisted.

“I promised him I’d visit on the way back. Chances are, he’d feel insulted if you don’t come. And I’m not going to lie for you.”

“Alright, if you’re sure he won’t mind,” Dís said, not particularly convinced. 

“Good. Now let’s hurry, tea is at four.”

 

She hovered in the background when Dwalin knocked at the neat green door looking down from a hill on which the spring grass was growing and flowers grew along the road twisting down towards the little river. 

“Dwalin!” A middle-aged hobbit exclaimed as he opened the door. Dís had imagined him to be older by now, and somewhat rounder around his waist. 

The hobbit saw her and his eyes widened before he bowed low. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service. I presume you must be Lady Dís?”

Dís nodded, bowing as well. “At your service.”

“This is my nephew Frodo,” Bilbo said, waving a young hobbit towards him. Dís estimated that he was just barely out of childhood, but a long way still from coming of age. 

“Well, I say nephew, but he is also my cousin, on both sides for that matter,” Bilbo added, trailing off. “But I suppose you are more interested in tea than in hobbit genealogy. Do come in!”

Dís hadn’t been sure whether she wanted to hear stories about her boys and her brother, not from a stranger. But the hobbit was respectful without being a flatterer and she could see that it was painful for him to talk about what had happened too. They sat until late into the night, laughing and crying in turns.

The young hobbit sat in his armchair listening with wide eyes. Dís could tell he had heard the story before, but not in full, not quite realising just how real his uncle’s stories had been. He was entirely different from her boys, sitting quietly and asking thoughtful questions without interrupting, but she still felt a pang when looking at him.

They set off again the next morning, after an enormous breakfast. The breakfast her brother preferred before setting off on a journey, Dís realised with a slight start. 

“If you ever pass through the Shire, please come and visit,” Bilbo said to Dís as he bade them farewell. She hugged him and Frodo tightly.

“It took your brother months for that,” Bilbo said softly, blinking rapidly.

 

Dáin did not give her a royal welcome. He knew she would not have wanted it. Instead, he waited for her and Dwalin at a side entrance, pulling her into his enormous hug when she reached him, the last rays of the sun falling upon them.

“Welcome, dearest cousin. I am glad you are here,” he said, his deep voice reminding her of her father.

“Thank you. I am sorry I did not come sooner.”

Dáin waved it aside with a hand. “Let us speak not speak of that. I can understand. Come now, I have had a proper meal prepared for us, you must be tired of cram and dried meat. Then you can rest for the night and tomorrow I will show you around the mountain.”

The meal Dáin had had prepared for her and Dwalin was indeed fit for royalty, though Dís was rather glad that it was served in Dáin’s rooms instead of the main hall. Dáin asked about their journey, which had thankfully been uneventful if long. As glad as she was to see her cousin and have reached her destination, Dís went to bed early, well aware of the long and exhausting day ahead of her. 

 

Dáin led her to the tombs first thing after breakfast the following morning, knowing that would be the first thing she would want to see in the mountain. He stopped in front of the splendid doors.

“I will be in my rooms. Let me know when you are ready to see the rest of the mountain.” Dáin briefly rested a hand on her arm, then turned and left.

Dís took a brief moment to collect herself, then took a deep breath and pushed open the marble doors. Slowly, she walked in. 

There were the three tombs Dwalin had told her about, the stone carved in likeness of them. Thorin’s in the middle with the crown of stone upon the head, a long elven sword in front of him. Her boys lay to either side of him with circlets of gold on the stone brows and their weapons in their hands. 

She thought of what Dwalin had told her about how they had died and tears filled her eyes. 

It was long past noon when she returned to Dáin’s rooms. 

 

The mountain was everything they had hoped it would be, everything they had hoped they could make it. Dáin had done an admirable job at restoring it. She saw the changes to the shape of the training hall Fíli hadn’t been able to stop talking about. She stood in front of the device Kíli had wanted to build for casting flying targets.

Dáin saw Dís inspecting it.

“I wanted the mountain to carry their touch,” he said. “I asked their travelling companions if Fíli and Kíli had mentioned any things they were especially looking forward to building and luckily, they had talked about many things in great detail, so I was able to set them little memorials in this way. Though I have to admit, this one was particularly challenging. Kíli had quite an inventive mind to him.”

Dís smiled and nodded. “He did. I have a small prototype of it in my luggage I can show you later. I don’t know how long he experimented on it until it finally worked the way he wanted it to.”

 

That evening, they stood by the front gate, watching the enormous shadow the mountain cast across the landscape as the sun set. 

“I know you have had a long day,” Dáin said uncharacteristically quietly, “but I have to say this. I have only ever seen myself as your steward. I will leave the throne and have you be king should you want the reign of the mountain, and gladly so. I do not want an answer now, but think about it.”

There had been a time long ago when Dís wanted nothing more than a realm of her own, dwarrowdam or not, third child or not. And she knew Dáin. The offer should not have surprised her.

“I will think about it, thank you,” Dís replied. She already knew her answer. 

 

Dís soon found her own living quarters, close to the royal rooms but not too close. To her own surprise, she quickly fell into a routine. She joined Dáin in the council meetings, glad to have her opinion valued but equally glad to let the mountain be run by someone else. She opened a small forge, more because she needed something to do with her hands than because she wanted to run a business, but her products were popular. In the evenings, she visited with friends, catching up after long years of separation. Her last visit of the day was always to the tombs, where she told her sons and her brother about their mountain and how it was flourishing.

 

“I am travelling to the Blue Mountains again soon,” Dwalin said one day when she was visiting him. “Are you coming too or are you staying here?”

Dís considered for a moment. “I am staying here. I want to be close to my boys.”

 

The shadow of the mountain grew short, then long again. Snow fell and settled in thick blankets on the slopes of the mountain, melting and giving way to wild flowers when spring came. Dís liked watching the trees paint their leaves brightly in autumn and cast them into the autumn storms. In the winters, she enjoyed the contrasting greys of the landscape. Each year, her beard blended in better with them.

 

One day many autumns later, Dís was sitting at dinner with Dáin when one of the guards hurried in.

“My King, my Lady. I am sorry to interrupt you, but there is a strange traveller at the gates. He asks for hospitality, but we will not let him in without your word. He is asking strange questions.”

“Thank you, Frali,” Dáin said, setting down his ale. “I will take a look at this traveller and see what he has to say.”

He rose from the table and Dís joined him, her curiosity piqued. 

 

The guards at the gate stood with straight postures, their hands on the handles of their weapons. There was none of the usual chatter and laughter to be heard.

The gates were closed, which was unusual before nightfall.

“There was a strange whisper in the air this evening,” Frali said in a low voice when Dáin asked him about it. “It was just a precaution to close them, but I was glad I had taken it when the traveller arrived. He is waiting outside, but I advise you to talk to him from one of the towers or the battlements instead of going out to meet him.”

Dáin nodded and Dís was glad he saw it the same way as she did. Together, they climbed the steps to one of the towers beside the gate and looked out on their visitor.

He was robed in black and his face was in the shadows. A large black horse stood beside him. Despite his clothing and posture seeming noble, Dís would not have let him into the mountain either. There was a foul taste in her mouth and a chill down her spine when she looked at him. 

“Grar, fly down to Dale and warn them of our visitor. Make sure he does not see you. Tell the guards to close their gates, then warn King Brand,” Dáin told one of the ravens sitting in the tower.

Grar nodded and hopped over to the back of the tower. “Very well, King Dáin. I would not let him in if I were you.”

“I do not intend to,” Dáin agreed. 

“Who comes to our gates?” Dáin asked loudly.

The traveller turned to face where they stood. “A friend. I have come for counsel.”

“What kind of counsel do you seek?” Dáin asked. 

“Can we not speak in private?”

“My guards are trustworthy. Speak here, or leave it be.”

“I seek Baggins. I have a gift for Baggins.”

The chill on the back of Dís’s neck turned into a cold hand clutching at her heart. She did not know if this strange traveller was searching for Bilbo or his nephew Frodo, but she knew for certain that she did not wish for him to find them.

“I know of no Baggins,” Dáin replied without any hesitation. 

“What do you know of hobbits?” the traveller asked instead. “There are long-lost heirlooms of your family I would return to you for information.”

“I have not heard of hobbits either,” Dáin replied. “If there is nought else you seek, I bid you to leave my gates.”

“I seek your hospitality. Of old, hospitality was always granted to weary travellers.”

The traveller did not seem particularly weary to Dís. In fact, she was not sure being weary was something he ever had to deal with. The thought sent another chill down her spine. 

“These are different times, I’m afraid,” Dáin called out. “We do not open our gates to strangers.”

“Think about my questions,” the traveller said, mounting his horse. “I will return.”

He turned his horse and they galloped away, not seeming weary in the least.

Dís was glad Grar was a fast flier and would have warned Dale by now. 

 

“Keep the gates barred,” Dáin told Frali. “Even during the day. Do not let in any strangers. Double the watch on the side gates. If he returns, let me know at once.”

Frali nodded and set out to give the guards orders.

Dís and Dáin hurried back into the mountain. 

“We need to warn Bilbo, possibly Frodo as well,” Dís said. “I did not like the look of him.”

Dáin nodded. “Call together the council. We have some decisions to make.”

 

Glóin and Gimli set off that very week. The traveller had returned to the gate, asking the same questions and sending shivers down the backs of everyone in his presence. He became more clear about which heirlooms he meant and there was much discussion in the council about whether the rings he spoke of would be forgeries or the real dwarven rings. If they were the real rings, they dreaded to think of how he came by them. When he offered them Sauron’s friendship, their worst fears were confirmed. Dáin asked for time to consider, hoping to buy time for the hobbits and their own preparations for war.

Throughout the year, the warriors of the mountain and of Dale doubled their training. Neither realm doubted that dark times were approaching and they would face them well prepared. Dís joined the other dwarven smiths in forging armour and countless weapons. In the evenings, she spent long hours discussing with the council. 

In late winter, the news reached them that the settlements by the Redwater had been overrun by Easterlings. The war they had all been expecting was coming. 

 

Dís and Dáin looked out over the hordes of Easterlings from the battlements. Dís remembered how many battles had taken place in her life. There had always been a reason for her not to participate, whether she was too young or had to stay behind for other reasons. She had lived for longer than the average dwarf and known more grief too. This time, she would be the one marching to battle.

“What do you say, dearest cousin?” Dáin asked. “Are you ready? Shall we go to war?”

Dís gave him a grim smile. “Let us fight.”

It had taken Dís decades to finally set out. Today, she would see her boys again.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently taking Christmas/Yuletide/winter requests/prompts over on Dreamwidth! If you’re interested, read more here: <https://octopus-fool.dreamwidth.org/2017/12/03/>


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